claire_ity
in
damned
Dayshift 22: Chapel
Claire woke up in her room just like before, with little idea of how she actually got there. This time, though, she noticed something different about the room. There was another young woman, a blond, sleeping in a bed across from her. Before questioning that, though, she made sure to hide the items she'd gotten that night in her closet, shutting
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He put a hand on Claire's shoulder, she looked very anxious and overwhelmed. He'd seen that look on many faces. Usually soldiers, sometimes children. "If you let it get to you mentally, it's that much harder to fight physically. They're playing with us, testing us. Seeing how far they can push us before we break. I know the type." He considered this for a moment.
"Physical damage is easier to forget. I've had body parts cut off and reattached, eventually you forget what it felt like. Psychological damage is much more difficult to deal with. It's not as immediate, but it builds up, and you remember it more clearly." Realizing he probably wasn't doing such a good job at comforting, in fact, he was probably doing the opposite, he decided to move for a better point.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is survival is a two-part effort. Even if you manage to get through something without a scratch, if you let it overwhelm you, they've still won. It's better to take the hits as you get them and keep going, than to let them manipulate you through fear and doubt." Probably best to stop there before he dug himself in deeper. He could've said more about the resiliency of the human mind, but that would mean bringing up things he didn't want to talk about with strangers.
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"Yeah, I used to live in New York," Brock said, opening an eye and glancing aside at the blonde with the long hair - Claire, he supposed. "
He hadn't been paying too much attention to their conversation, but the part where they started going on about men with pyramids for heads had caught his attention. He was of the opinion that they were losing their minds, but decided that he was in some fucking bizarre mutant crazy house and that would answer all his questions.
A sigh. He wasn't going to get much done if he kept unconsciously eavesdropping on these people. At least he wasn't looking at them and thinking how absolutely delicious they would be. Not yet. But one of the people, Red, was looking at him as if he wanted a taste and Brock found himself staring back.
"And what's your deal?" he asked. He had to admit it felt weird to be on the receiving side of these kinds of stares. Gotta tone it down then, he thought.
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He glanced at Claire for a moment, and reached out to touch her arm. "Trust your friends to guard your back as they trust you to guard theirs. Understand that death, pain, and life are all the same thing. Overcome your fears with your will, and they will become your strength." He smiled. "When we stand resolved, together, there is no chance of defeat."
That said - coherently, he hoped, but his head just hurt - he turned his attention back to Eddie.
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Renji reached out to give Elena's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "There's a lot wrong with this place. There is nothing wrong with you," he said. "Be strong." He smiled. "It will be okay." As hoarse as he was, there was still confidence and strength in his voice; he truly believed what he had said. He let go of her shoulder; he wouldn't interrupt if she wanted to talk to Claire.
There was still the puzzle of Eddie to examine, after all.
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She focused back at Eddie. "I'm Claire - the girl from Texas. Nice to meet you in person." Good to know there were more people from America - she'd be sure to remember his face. Renji was unsure about him - but technically, wasn't there something "wrong" with her? She didn't know anymore.
What she did know was that Elena was starting to look miserable. As much as Claire wanted to be social, she understood just as well the need for some kind of talk that wasn't about death and horror. She considered it for a moment. "Hey, guys, mind if Elena and I have a little girl talk?" she asked, and then looked at Renji. "Won't go far."
The last part was only slightly teasing at his protectiveness.
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Maybe he was trying to flush it out. Make them just blurt it out in a panic if it looked like he knew their little secret. Brock wasn't about to fall for that - he'd used that very trick before in his reporting career (before it crashed and burned) and he wasn't about to fall prey to his own tactic. The blond just stared back at Red.
"You can try figuring it out as much as you want," Brock sneered. "But there's nothing wrong with me."
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His arm, still around Nowe, tightened slightly. "Human, and not. So tell me, Brock-san, what exactly is right about you?"
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He did seem genuinely puzzled when he looked at Brock though, as if he was unsure where to focus.
Brock stubbornly folded his arms over his chest, figuring that prayer was really a lost cause now, and glowered at Red.
"I'm not in prison, for starters. And I'm not insane, so I think that's a big plus," said Brock irritably. "What's it to you? You're awfully noisy about my personal life."
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He smiled thinly. "I'm not big into dancing around shit. So I figured I'd ask. Don't tell me anything if you don't want to. It just means I'll keep staring holes into your back until I figure out what it is that makes you... not-human. I can't help it. It's like having an itch you can't quite reach."
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He still believed in justice, but he had a feeling his own views on it would probably clash with the majority of people out there.
Brock still didn't plan to tell anyone about the symbiote. He wasn't sure if Landels knew about it - or the fact that Kasady was also a Host - but he wasn't going to offer them ammunition if they didn't.
The symbiote reasoned that it was fine if Cletus Kasady and their supposed "off-spring" got themselves killed, but they still wanted to live.
After all, they still needed to reproduce. And they still needed to find Peter Parker and make him theirs. Just the thought of the Spider made them all warm inside, even as it warred with the hate Brock felt toward the wallcrawler.
"How are you so sure I'm 'not-human'?" Brock said, frowning. "For someone who claims to hate bullshitting, you're not doing a good job convincing me you aren't."
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He smirked, just a little. "And the fact that you're asking me to explain myself tells me that I'm haven't completely lost my touch even if I'm having a rotten excuse for a morning."
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It sounded like Red here was one of those mutants with the other kinds of sight, although thankfully he didn't look like one of those mind-readers, like whoever the hell lead the X-Men. Brock supposed he really should have tried writing more pieces on mutants back when he worked at the Daily Bugle, but Jameson hadn't thought they were worth much investigation, not when Spider-man was still on the loose with his "cute" attempt at being a vigilante.
"Sorry to hear you got a migraine, but I think you're shit out of luck with these mutant abilities of yours," Brock said. He debated getting up and putting some distance between them. "I'll give you some advice: you better watch who you start prying into next time."
Brock left it at that.
The blond once again closed his eyes, knelt, rested his hands on back of the pew in front of him, and went back to praying. He doubted praying would help, but it was hard to kick old habits.
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A couple centuries too late, and way too dead.
But he left it at that. Sometimes being direct worked. Sometimes it didn't. He sat back against the pew a little, still holding on to Nowe, and mulled over the possibilities in his mind.
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